


Second Chance

by GeneralSherman



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Betrayal, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes origin story, Blink And You Miss It Reference to the Drive-By Truckers, Canon Compliance subject to change based on what happens in the upcoming Ashe book, Filling In The Blanks For McCree's Origin Story, Found Family, Gen, Heist, I'm Bad At Tagging, Mentor Gabriel Reyes, Mild Angst, Oneshot, Originally written in 2018, Pre-Canon, Prison, Recruitment, Smoking, Talking, Young Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe, Young Jesse McCree, no beta we die like men, reposted from ffn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralSherman/pseuds/GeneralSherman
Summary: Jesse McCree has a good thing going with the Deadlock Gang. Young, talented, and with limitless potential and the only family he's ever needed at his side, he figures him and his family are kings and queens of the world, with everything they could ever want ripe for the taking.But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.After their latest heist turns into a setup, McCree finds himself with no family, no future beyond the confines of a prison cell, and no hope. Abandoned and afraid, all that's left to do is waste away.Until a man, not unlike the young gunslinger once, comes along and offers up the chance of a lifetime.
Kudos: 7





	Second Chance

_Son of a bitch!_

Jesse McCree slammed his fist into the wall of his cell with all his might, expecting the concrete to crack under the force, or at least make a mildly satisfying noise upon impact. All he got instead was a dull, pathetic-sounding tap, drowned out amongst the innumerable other concrete echos ringing through the prison block, and a sudden feeling in his hand akin to having had it trampled under B.O.B.'s oversized metal feet.

He held back a pained vocalization as he withdrew his arm and watched it throb and turn bright red. For all that trouble, he saw as he sighed through gritted teeth, he hadn't even bloodied his knuckles.

Defeated and further dejected, a feeling he half didn't know was possible, he stepped back and sank into the cell's bunk bunk, letting his head tip back until the brim of his hat was curled up against the wall, where he closed his eyes to try to get in some much-desired rest after a night's worth of disappointment. Even that, however, proved to be pathetic in its futility; As the desert sun rose outside his cell window, the light entered at just an angle so that closed or open, sitting or lying down, or even with his hat serving as a cover, he was denied the chance.

The outlaw sighed in extreme annoyance as he readjusted his hat. _Well_ , he thought, seething it out under his breath. _Ain't that just typical._

To say that things the night before had been a complete disaster for himself and the Deadlock Gang alike would have been putting it mildly. By now, failures, inconveniences and coming up short were becoming par for the course for the defeated outlaw, little more than insult to injury.

One of many suffered, he reminisced, on what was supposed to be a huge payday...

* * *

_"Hey uh, boss? " a skinny man asked, poking his head up over the boulder he hid behind while dropping his white helmet in favour of a yellow hardhat. "You sure this here van's gon' be ridin' up soon?"_

_The woman he was speaking to, herself clad in a wide-brimmed hat and a half-zipped vest emblazoned with the Deadlock ensignia, shooed him back down from behind the narrow pathway on the other side of the road. "If you don't shut up," she hissed. "when that van comes 'round they'll shoot you first!"_

_"Uh, sure boss, it's just that I gotta pee."_

_The woman turned around and hit the back of her head against the outcrop that hid the ledge from view, sinking to the ground as she looked up and mouthed 'why me?' to no one in particular. Next to her, a burly Omnic with thick metal mutton chops and a tiny bowler hat looked down in her direction, blinking his jade-green eyes and cocking his head to one side. With a dismissive wave from the woman though, he inclined his head with a hydraulic whir and set his gaze elsewhere._

_"If ya gotta take a piss," she spat. "Then don't bother askin'. Just take a goddamn piss n' get back quick!"_

_"Uh, okay boss." With that, the skinny man disappeared behind the rock._

_The woman emptied her lungs as she lolled her head back again, clenching her teeth behind her lips. Dealing with the bumpkins that she kept on her heist crew was taxing enough regularly, but when they decided to be particularly idiotic on days like these she wanted little more than to tear her own hair out.  
Thankfully, she reminded herself as she breathed back in and lifted herself back up onto her high-heeled boots, what was due to be coming around the bend in the road any minute promised to be more than worth the trouble._

_It would have to be._

_A nearby snicker attracted her attention as she rose back up onto her feet. "What're you laughin' at, McCree?" she demanded._

_From behind where the Omnic stood, McCree spun on the heel of his boot and leaned against the back wall of the pathway. "Well Ashe," he said coolly. "you can't really blame poor ol' P.T. fer askin'. You don't let any a' the triplets do much more without your say so." He peered up from under his hat. "Whaddaya think B.O.B?"_

_The Omnic looked silently over at McCree until Ashe cut in. "It don't matter," she stated. "My family, my rules. Just don't you go thinkin' 'bout doin' anything stupid like them."_

_"Now c'mon Ashe," he retorted, taking a puff from his cigar while keeping a smile on his face. "Since when've we let each other down?"_

_"I don't let nobody down, though I gotta admit," she said under rolled eyes. "all this time you ain't yet. Pendin' whether or not this here van comes, that is."_

_"Well hey there now, I checked the tip myself. It's good."_

_"Sound awful confident there, you do," Ashe said, raising an eyebrow as she looked over her shoulder suspiciously. "If y'ask me, this tip just fallin' outta nowhere like it did seems a little too good to be true."_

_McCree's smile faded as B.O.B. looked his way, as though to reaffirm Ashe's concerns. The cowboy blew a puff of smoke out from his cigar in their direction, but under it, his hat, and his swaggering smile, something itched in the back of his mind that, unlike the smoke, he couldn't just fan away with his hand. It was hard to distinguish whether it was that there wasn't a wind whistling past the cliff's edge along the road like usual or that the shrill symphony of chirping insects that typically played their residence on warm desert nights seemed to have taken this one off, but there was one thing he could pinpoint for certain._

_It was quiet. TOO quiet._

_But that was no reason to pass on opportunity when it came calling._

_Well in that case," he said, scratching the back of his head. "You n' B.O.B. can just wait here as that van drives up, n' then watch as me, Bars, and the triplets walk off with the mother of all scores."_

_The cowboy watched with growing smugness as Ashe snorted and reached for where her rifle leaned next to her, folding her left leg and resting the barrel on her lap with the muzzle pointed towards McCree in a wordless way of saying "Not a chance." If there was one thing, McCree had learned, that could get a stone-cold thief with absolutely no chill whatsoever to concede a point, it was the promise of big money._

_As it just so happened, this promise was one of the biggest: An armoured van, unescorted and manned by just the driver and shotgun rider across the last leg of its trek to the federal mint in San Francisco, loaded with three quarter billion dollars' worth of unmarked bills and gold bullion, and traveling under the cover of darkness, was just the kind of score that could make them all salivate. Any minute, they knew, that van would be due to drive past the diner, round the bend, and right into their trap._

_Peeking from around his side of the outcrop, McCree's eyes moved between several different locales. Atop the roof of the nearby abandoned gas station, Bars, the gang's resident marks-Omnic, could just be made out under the moonlight from behind the rusted neon sign, his own rifle in hand and his optics fixed down the scope. On the other side of the road, P.T. and his brothers Terran and Zeke were waiting for the moment when they'd take to the asphalt stage and put on a one-night-only show, just long enough to keep its audience occupied and vulnerable. Everything promised to go perfect; It was the kind of stunt they'd pulled a hundred times up and down their stretch of Route 66, the one place where a cadre of rough-and-tumble misfits could be a family of kings and queens, invincible, united, fearless, and unlimited in their potential._

_The one place, McCree knew, that he belonged._

_"Guys," a synthetic tenor called out over a transceiver, drawing the attention of all three hidden thieves in an instant. "We got incoming. Big white truck, six hover-wheels, rolling fast. I think this is it."_

_Ashe snatched the transceiver off her belt, a thin smile crossing her ruby lips. "Alright then, y'all know the drill. Boys, go n' start off this here number. DON'T screw it up."_

_"Yessir, ma'am," another voice responded._

_From their ledge, Ashe grabbed hold of her rifle again and flicked the lever. At the same time, McCree spit out and stamped down on his cigar as he drew his revolver and spun the cylinder, while B.O.B adjusted his hat before the two humans tied on bandanas over their faces._

_It was time for the family to do what they did best._

_Peeking out from behind the outcrop, the trio saw the roadblock they'd placed in the middle of the road light up, flashing from top to bottom with bright yellow hazard lights. In quick succession, the triplets hopped out from behind their hiding spots - with P.T. scrambling in last as he zipped up his jeans - adorned in reflective vests and orange hardhats._

_"Well they sure clean up nice," McCree remarked through a smirk, referring to the usual helmets and metal chestplates the triplets wore. "Or well, nicer."_

_Ashe simply glared back at him in return._

_No sooner had the triplets taken their places when the van, just as Bars had described it, roared around the corner and screeched to a halt, the din of its diesel engine cutting through the night's silence while the shotgun rider, a young woman in a green uniform holding an assault carbine, stepped out to begin a shouting match with the unexpected construction workers impeding their progress through such a dangerous stretch of territory._

_Under his bandana, McCree smiled: So far, so good._

_"I mean, I'm sorry missy," Zeke said, shrugging exaggeratedly. "but there just ain't nothin' I can do."_

_"Ugh, fine!" the woman exclaimed as she stomped back to the van in a huff and opened the passenger door. "Mike, find us a new route and radio the receiving team that we're running late," she called out, still out of sight behind the open door and having not stepped into the cab yet. "We've been out in the open for too lo-"_

_The press of steel against the woman's head cut her off mid-sentence. When she looked over her shoulder to see the reason being Ashe holding a lever-action rifle to her frontal lobe, ready and able to pull the trigger at even the slightest movement, she was left silent - and cold - as the grave._

_"Pat?" the driver called in a synthetic baritone. "Patterson? Everything alright down there?"_

_The guard walked out in view of her partner at a tectonic pace, but his relief was replaced with a yelp as B.O.B. wrenched her carbine out of her grasp and snapped it in two, while Ashe strode into sight herself and tipped her hat back, staring eye-to-optic with the driver._

_In a rush of panic the Omnic grabbed the gearshift and yanked it frantically into drive, only for the van to lurch to the right as three shots whizzed in from atop the abandoned gas station and came to rest in the hover-tires. Seeing where the shooter came from did nothing, however, to stop three more shots from disabling the left side as well, bringing the van down to solid pavement with a tremendous crash. With the vehicle immobile the driver fumbled for his sidearm pinned under his seatbelt, but a knock on his window left him as cold as his partner. Frozen in place except for his head, he looked over to where the knock had come from, seeing McCree standing on the other side along with the triplets, all of whom had their own weapons drawn and victorious glimmers underneath their goggles._

_And whereas the gang whooped and yipped in victory, Patterson and Mike exchanged dejected looks that said the same thing:_ Son of a bitch.

**_..._ **

_Two minutes later, the unlucky duo were bound with zip-ties to the van's grill, left to watch as the gang set about their business like a flurry of bees in a flower patch._

_"T, you n' your brothers go get the cart," Ashe barked from where she stood, just outside the van's cargo doors. "Y'all better remember where you left it."_

_"Yessir, Ashe," Terran called back as he ran off._

_Ashe then turned back to her butler and oldest partner. "Well then, gents," she said, widening her stance in triumph as she pulled off her bandana. "Guess you could call this the moment of truth."  
She then gestured to B.O.B., then to the door before snapping at the Omnic with just his name, a well-worn command that called for her current wish to be gratified. _ _No sooner had it been given when he lumbered up to the doors and ripped them clean off their hinges and locks in one swift motion. The van's cargo now exposed for all to see, the trio gasped at its first sight._

_As it turned out, Ashe had been right in the first place._

_Inside wasn't the treasure trove that had been promised to those who knew its secret, but two dozen soldiers clad in black armour from head to toe and wielding cutting-edge military weapons. The blood drained from McCree's face as he pulled down his bandana and as Ashe, her lower lip quivering, sent a glare out of the corner of her eye that radiated pure, frothing rage and a promise that they would have words when this was over._

_But first, they had to survive._

_The first move was made by McCree, snatching a flashbang grenade off his belt and throwing it into the van, buying himself, Ashe, and B.O.B. a window of opportunity to run for cover before they could be perforated with bullet holes, one that slammed shut the moment they dove behind one of the boulders as the soldiers spilled out and opened fire._

_"Boys! Get back here, NOW!" Ashe screamed into her transceiver._

_"Uh, boss?" P.T. responded. "Didn't you say ta go get the-"_

_"And now I'm saying ta get back here 'n start shootin'," she shrieked. "so DO IT!"_

_Handing the transceiver to B.O.B., Ashe next produced a bundle of dynamite from her vest and a match with which to light it. Throwing the explosive over her shoulder at her attackers, she next stood up from behind the boulder just long enough to draw a bead on it with her rifle and send a bullet to detonate it in midair, spewing fire across the fanned-out troopers. She pumped a fist in triumph until the smoke cleared and the bullets continued to whiz past her head, forcing her to retreat._

_McCree, however, did no such thing. Fanning the hammer of his revolver as he broke back towards the pathway, two soldiers dropped lifeless to the ground before their compatriots pinned the gunslinger down behind the outcrop. From there, he watched as Bars took aim at targets of opportunity before ducking back behind the station roof's sign, while the triplets whooped and yipped and danced like weasels as they ran back in from the other side of the van, guns blazing with reckless abandon._

_McCree could feel his heart pound in his chest as he traded shots with the soldiers. THIS was the sort of thing he loved most about the Deadlocks, that feeling of family, of fearlessness, and the invincibility that came with knowing they'd always be there for him._

_But not all of them felt that way._

_"Everybody, get outta here!" Ashe shouted. "Job's a bust, so get movin' before you get shot!"_

_McCree picked up his own walkie-talkie off his belt. "No," he answered, still firing before reloading his gun with his free hand. "Nah, I think we can beat 'em! We got 'em surrounded, so we just gotta stand our ground!"_

_"Now ain't the time for bullshit, McCree, now get going 'fore I-!"_

_What response Ashe had planned to say was preempted by a sharp cry of pain. Rounding the other corner of the outcrop and downing another trooper in the process, McCree saw Ashe fallen on her backside in the middle of the road, clutching her right arm and her teeth clenched in agony, while a bright red stain steadily grew across the white sleeve of her dress shirt._

_But that soon proved to be the least of their problems, especially when HE stepped out of the van._

_As opposed to the faceless warriors, this one was different. The armour he wore was less bulky, with no mask to cover his unchanging scowl or the scars that lined his face. From the moment he came into the open all eyes were on him in an instant. He had to be their leader, McCree figured: The only people who could command that kind of attention were people that did so through fear and respect, just like Ashe did. The man was also the only one who wore any sort of marking, a heavily stylized, stark-white owl face within a red and white circle on his shoulders. This, it seemed to McCree, was a person who considered themselves just as invincible as he himself felt._

_The young cowboy would soon find out why._

_Walking headlong into the hailstorm of bullets with barely a second thought, the leader pulled out two massive semi-automatic shotguns from behind his back and aimed them at where Ashe had dropped to one knee. With even less hesitation B.O.B. adjusted his hat and charged down the man, jumping in the air with massive metal fists held high, only for the commander to effortlessly sidestep the landing and unload multiple shots into the Omnic's back. While the rounds didn't penetrate his steel hide, the extra boost of momentum threw B.O.B. off-balance enough that he careened headfirst into the solid rock face below the pathway with an earth-shaking thud before slumping motionless to the ground._

_A sudden cold sweat and an instinctive action brought McCree back out of harm's way behind the outcrop before a fresh jolt of hope brought him around to the other side. There, the situation in view was no better: Bars was forced to jump off the station roof to avoid an incoming grenade and was met with three assault rifles pointed at his head as he finished skidding across the dirt, while the triplets were each overwhelmed and pinned down in spite of their wild jumping and gunfire._

_McCree's breathing shallowed and his brow furrowed as the instinct took deeper root, corroding his sense of security. The family was losing - badly, and as he reached to scratch the back of his head he squinted his eyes tight in equal parts denial and fear._

_But no, he told himself as he looked back up again and cocked the hammer on his revolver. There was still one last thing that could be done._

_Putting on as much of a burst of speed as he could muster, McCree bolted out along the pathway, amongst the continual rain of bullets until he had an angle lined up on the commander, his own attention spent on closing in on Ashe as she fended off more soldiers with a sawed-off coach gun. Coming to a halt, McCree leveled his weapon squarely at the commander's head, letting the air circulating in his lungs fuel his exhilaration. He hadn't let down Ashe yet, and he wasn't going to do so any time soon if he could help it._

_Until, that was, the commander raised one of his own guns without even looking and let loose a round above McCree's head, hitting the loosened boulders above the pathway and sending them thundering down the mesa. McCree barely had enough time to look up and jump clear, his head making a hard blow on the solid pavement before they smashed the outcrop to pebbles and crushed the armoured van, with Patterson and Mike having only just been freed themselves before the collision._

_McCree's head went blank, his thoughts cut out by a ringing in his ears and a sense of dazed nausea that he fought a losing battle with over the prize of consciousness. Aimlessly, his eyes wandered between the night sky, the gathering crowd of an increasingly indeterminate number of soldiers over where he lay, and between their legs off to the right, where the echoes of Ashe's frenzied screeching could be made out just before everything went black._

" _McCree! MCCREE! You're gonna pay for what you done here! Don't you ignore me! I'm gonna have B.O.B. rip off your arms n' mount your head on a wall! Y'hear me McCree?! **MCCREE!** "_

* * *

McCree smirked with a dark cynicism. _At least it didn't come to that._

Ashe didn't get the chance to. When McCree finally came to, he and the gang were in the darkly lit back of another van, shackled to the sides and silently sending viciously dirty looks his way. From there, the next memory that stuck in his mind without the room spinning was being dragged to the cell he was now in, getting more dirty looks from his cohorts as they were hauled off to their own eight-by-eight foot slices of maximum security life.

Then, when he finally was able to think and see right and stand on his own two feet again, was when every terrible feeling about what had happened set in and ate McCree from the inside out.

The bandit-turned-convict slouched forward and breathed in slowly, taking his hat off and placing his still-sore hand on his forehead as he did. _So this is how it all ends_ , he mused dejectedly to himself. _Sent up shit's creek without a paddle 'cause of one lousy sting._ For a moment he squinted up at the flickering yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling, finding himself almost tempted to wish they'd given him six feet of rope and something to tie it on to, just to save himself the trouble.

But no, he asserted as he shook his head. That wouldn't be right, not when he still had the family to go back to when he'd eventually get out of this cell.

_Right?_

Before his reflection could go down another dark road, the clunk of boots made McCree open his eyes back up again; Someone was coming. With all haste he grabbed his hat, picked himself off the bunk, and leaned against the wall opposite the direction he heard them coming from with his arms crossed, not wanting to show any sort of weakness. Whoever was headed this way, he surmised, wasn't a familiar face; the footsteps were too heavy to be Ashe, too light to be B.O.B., and there was only one pair so it couldn't have been the triplets. In all likelihood, he reasoned, it was one of the rat bastards who put them away.

In short order, he had an answer that made him frown. _Speak of the devil_.

McCree tipped his hat over his face, but underneath it he shot daggers at the commander. "Well howdy there, stranger," he said, dripping with sarcasm." Welcome to Casa del Prison. I woulda tidied up, but I wasn't expectin' company."

The commander eyed the cell with fake admiration as he strode up in front of it, crossing his arms in the process. "There's definitely worse places to call home," he replied, matching the outlaw's sarcasm. "You renting or did you buy it outright?"

"Got it for free. Me and my buddies were set up with it after we lost a job 'cause of this one guy. Real asshole if there ever was one, I reckon he was. I'd thank him for it, but I kinda misplaced the gift I had ready."

A sly grin crept up one side of the commander's face. "Oh don't worry about that," he said. "I think he got it."

McCree sniffed in and turned away in disinterest until he heard the telltale spin of his revolver's cylinder and the click of it being shut, feeling his heart wanting to burst through his chest.

The commander raised an eyebrow as he studied over the weapon. "Quite the piece of work," he remarked. "Custom-made, forty-five caliber, high velocity armour-piercing bullets. No wonder you killed four of my men."

McCree tipped his hat up and looked the commander in the eye for the first time, resisting the urge to wrench the gun back with one hand and beat the commander senseless with the other. "A gun's only as good as the man who's holdin' it," he seethed. "If you'd open up this here door, I'd be happy to show ya what I mean."

The commander smirked. "Nice try kid, but I'm not stupid. At least, not enough so to stay and fight a losing battle."

"Who's sayin' I lost?" McCree replied, loosening his posture.

"Winners don't end up in state prison."

McCree scoffed defiantly. "Nothin' I ain't heard before from men just like you, but in the end they all get what's comin'."

The commander looked up from studying the revolver. "I'm not like most men," he replied candidly. "Though you've got me wondering. Just what do you think I've got coming?"

McCree pivoted on his heel so that he was now face to face with his adversary. "You ain't the first person to gloat when they figured they'd got the best a' me," he said, an ill-intentioned grin spreading across his face. "Ain't likely gonna be the last, either. Thing is, though, the Deadlock Gang never lets the tables turn on 'em for long. When we bounce back - an' lemme tell ya, we always do - those same people that're thinkin' they're hot stuff when they won, well... let's just say they ain't so confident when they got the business end of a loaded gun to their head."

The two men were silent for some time, trading looks that seemed to size each other up, waiting for the next reaction. Eventually, the commander's scowl broke into a snicker, which in turn grew to a laugh.

McCree cocked his head to one side, not expecting this to have been the move the commander made. "Somethin' you find funny?"

"Ah, it's nothing. Just that you're pretty confident for a fall guy."

For the first time in their exchange, McCree's reaction wasn't marked with a snarky swagger. His brow furrowed under his hat and his eyes widened as he perked up, something the commander noticed just before the outlaw resumed his previous defiance. "What're you talkin' about?" he asked through a forced laugh. "It's the middle a' summer."

"What I'm talking about," the commander explained, showing an assurance far more convincing than McCree's. "is that just before I came up here, I sat in on a plea bargain between the prosecutor and your ringleader. Ashe's her name, right?"

He paused to see if the cowboy would respond, but was mildly displeased when all he got was a stony contempt.

"Anyways," the commander continued. "the deal they cut was that she, her robot sidekick, and the rest of her crew get off on two years' probation in exchange for ratting out whoever came up with the idea to rob the armoured van." He smirked as a degree of glib mockery marked his words. "You'll never guess who she said greenlit the heist."

"Cut the bullshit," McCree growled, much angrier than he intended. "Ashe only lives by a few rules, and top of those're that you don't work with the law and that you _never_ turn on family."

The commander chuckled. "It's amazing what people will do in order to save their own skins, even if it means becoming a hypocrite. Also, I don't think her definition of 'family' applies to people who nearly get her thrown in jail."

Whatever the McCree's reaction was was kept under lock and key by a denying glare, so the commander reached into his pocket and produced a portable holo-projector that he promptly activated. On it was recorded footage, dated at less than five minutes prior, of Ashe walking out of the prison's front entrance alongside Bars and the triplets, the latter of whom were yapping like a pack of hyenas...

* * *

_"Thanks fer puttin' up the bail, boss!" Terran hollered._

_Even from the distant security camera that had caught the footage, Ashe's smug, victorious grin, spread wide across her ruby lips, was easy to see._ _"Anything for the family," she replied._

_"Say, speakin' a' family," Zeke said. "where's McCree at? You an' B.O.B. bail 'im out too, ma'am?"_

_Without warning, Ashe did a one-eighty on her heel to look at her partners in crime, and with a whistle she grabbed the undivided attention of the whole gang._

_After what had happened, it was time to teach the family a lesson._

_She brushed her silver hair off to one side and placed one hand on her hips as she spoke. "Now y'all better listen up 'cause I'm not repeating this. McCree is settin' an example as to what happens if you let the family down. Now, y'all know that if y'all wanna be part a' my family, you gotta do what I say. Right?"_

_The gang all nodded in reply._

_"Good t'hear," she continued. "Now somethin' I hope y'all will know for next time is that if you ain't gonna do what I say, the rules, and what they mean for you, ain't gonna apply no more. McCree," she said, almost spitting out the name as she pointed over their heads towards the prison. "broke my rules, and we're all lucky that this," She now pointed towards her right arm, wrapped in a cast and held over her stomach. "is the worst we got 'cause of it. On account a' that, I reckon McCree's gonna stay in that cell 'til all he's good for is worm food." She raised her rifle off her shoulder, holding it in her left hand and moving the lever with a twirl, a wordless way of making sure she was understood._

_Again, the gang all nodded._

_Ashe shouldered her rifle again and tipped her hat back, bringing the sparkle of a free woman in her crimson eyes into full view. "Don't worry, though,"_ _she said glibly._ _"He promised he'd write."_

_The gang shared a laugh before Ashe spoke up again. "Now, who's up for a few rounds on me?"_

_The triplets' elation picked up at the notion, and were even joined by cheers from Bars as B.O.B. rolled up at the wheel of a pickup truck, beeping the horn as Ashe climbed in the passenger seat while the rest of the gang piled in the back, all as a family reunited._

* * *

The silence that initially followed the electronic fizzling out of the recording was promptly ended by the heavy crunch of broken cement. Though McCree was still leaning against the wall and had tipped his hat forward again, he had pounded his fist on the wall in a flash of rage, while at the same time his breathing had become audibly heavy, with each exhale hissing out through a fierce grimace that tightened as a dribble of blood fell off his knuckles. At the same time, he reached for one of his shirt sleeves and peeled off the Deadlock symbol on it, a dusty-brown skull flanked by eagle wings and with the words ' _Deadlock Rebels_ ' chained on with a padlock, and tossed it out of sight.

The commander's body language softened as he put away the projector. "I'm sorry, kid," he condoled. "but sometimes that's how it goes. Trust me, I've been in your shoes. I know what it's like when-"

"You think so?" The cowboy growled. "Do you REALLY think you got an idea of what's goin' on?"

"You got hung out to dry; It happens. Like I said, I know what-"

"No you don't!" McCree snapped, hitting the bars with even more vitriol as he looked the commander square in the eye. "Ashe and I built the gang from the ground up 'cause it was all we had. Nobody'd ever given a damn about us, so we decided we were gonna give a damn about each other, no matter what."

He got off from the wall for the first time in their conversation and pressed against the cell door. "But you wouldn't get that, and you wanna know why? Because you're just here to rub it in my face that I fucked up royal! Hell, you've probably rode in on your high horse to every stupid kid you ever left to rot behind bars just to tell 'em that they ain't nothin' but a failure," His shoulders slumped involuntarily. "and that they've let everybody they ever cared about down." Suddenly aware that he'd just said much more than he'd meant to, he turned around, threw his hat to the ground, and slumped onto his bunk, tired and defeated.

The commander cupped a hand around his goatee and stroked it slowly as the silence played out. McCree wasn't in tears, but he was very clearly disheartened and feeling alone and scared. Even so, all wasn't lost, the commander knew.

He'd just have to play his hand a little sooner and a little straighter.

"I'm not here to gloat, kid," he said, his tone going low. "and you're definitely not stupid. If you were, I wouldn't be giving you a second chance."

"At what?!"

"Life." The commander took his toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it away. "I'm offering you a job, kid. It's the only way you're getting out of here alive."

McCree shot him an incredulous look. "Oh that's just _rich_! You're a liar on top a' being a goddamn braggart!"

The commander let the insult slide with a sigh; A shouting match wasn't going to get him anywhere. "I'm not lying, and I'll prove it," he replied, resolution evident in his voice. In response, McCree pursed his lips and turned away, not interested in what some self-righteous prick had to say.

That is, until he saw his revolver slide along the floor and come to a halt at his feet.

His eyes fixated on the gun as he picked it up and tried to piece together why the commander would make such a move. He didn't need to think about it long, however, as the answer was given to him.

The commander leaned on the railing opposite McCree's cell and crossed his arms. "Here's how it's gonna go." he explained, his tone firm but not domineering. "I'm going to explain why I'm here and why you should at least consider what I'm offering. If at any point you think that I'm gloating, bullshitting, or any other adjective you think might fit, you're welcome to shoot me down right then and there. Until then, though, you're going to sit back and pay attention. I've listened to everything you've said to me, so now it's your turn."

McCree's gaze darted between the commander and the revolver several times. He flicked the cylinder open; Sure enough, there were six live bullets in there, and a visual check over the rest of the weapon's bits and pieces showed everything in working order.

The gun's condition wasn't his main concern, though. An extremely gutsy move had just been made, one that offered the outlaw a tantalizing chance. He pulled back the hammer until he heard it click and felt the trigger stiffen up. It would have been easy to put a bullet between the eyes of the man on the other side of the bars. A quick solution to his problem...

And yet, he realized, not to his most immediate problem.

Even if the commander was a lying, derisive jerk, the chance of getting out of jail, however unlikely, was something that resonated in his most desperate thoughts, the ones that had taken root when he was tossed into his cell and had sent a chill down his spine upon learning of Ashe's betrayal. Anything was preferable to this eight-by-eight box and what it was coming to represent.

He slid the hammer back to its starting position and tucked the gun into the front of his belt before sliding over to the end of his bunk nearest to the door and leaning in close. The commander, noticing this, adjusted himself into a more comfortable stance.

"You said you've known men just like me," he said. "Men you said would 'ride in on their high horse' just to gloat, and who think they're untouchable until you literally prove them dead wrong. I'm not saying I don't believe you, but if that's true then I've known more kids just like you than I can count; One in particular I knew _very_ closely."

A short, but exceedingly quiet pause followed before the commander finally spoke up again. "Here's what I see in you: You're tough, whip-smart, cocky. You're good at thinking on your feet, you want to belong to something bigger than yourself, and you've got more potential than anyone realizes. Hell," he laughed. "you and your gang had my guys in a kill box at one point. The only reason we got out was because in someone young like you, traits like what you've got can be just as dangerous to yourself as they can to other people."

His eyes wandered off towards the cell next to McCree's, subtly flicking back to confirm that the kid was holding up his end of the bargain before continuing. "And that, kid, is where your problem lies. What you've got now and what you had can take you far, no doubt about it, but what happens when you reach the end of the line? That's where the difference between potential and experience comes into play. If you don't know what you're doing, when the time comes when you have no one and nothing that can save you from your own mistakes, your entire world just comes crashing down like a glass house."

The commander's shoulders rolled back as he looked McCree squarely in the eye again. "By the time the dust settles, you're so scared that you just want it all to go away forever, and you'll do anything to make it happen. You might be able to hide it at first, probably by snapping at the first person who comes by just to say hello. But anyone who knows what it's like to be in your shoes can see right through whatever façade you put up and take a measure, the real measure, of just what's left of you." The one side of his face curled up knowingly. "'How do I know what it's like', you might be thinking? Simple, really. That one kid like you I said I knew closely, was me."

Another pause followed, far longer and somehow even more silent than the last. McCree swelled up in anger at first at the nerve of some person coming in and presuming to know everything there was to know about someone he'd never met before, nearly pulling back the hammer on the gun again.

But where his heart wanted him to gun the commander down, his mind was telling him to avoid the temptation of an easy fix and keep listening. As much as he hated to admit it, the commander was keeping his word.

"Let me tell you a story," the commander said. "Details may not be exactly the same, but I'm sure you've heard it before." The commander closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before letting it out gradually, his arms dropping over to the railings. "I was born in the worst part of Los Angeles. Mom left everything she ever had back east to look for opportunities that didn't exist, and Dad was an illegal who did whatever he could to avoid getting deported. Hell," he smirked. "that was the main reason why they got married and had me before either of them had turned twenty."

The sigh he let out between points was very much protracted. "As you can imagine, my childhood wasn't exactly idyllic. When I was seven, Mom hanged herself in the living room, and two days later Dad disappeared like a ghost. I never saw or heard from him again. I don't know what happened to him, but truth be told I don't care."

He paused again, this time to adjust his posture. "So at that tender age, there I was: On my own, left to fend for myself, no one to make a good impression on me. Or at least, at first. You see around that time, I met what you could describe as a kindred spirit."

McCree, still keeping his end of the deal, saw the look on the commander's face and in his eyes as they went off in another direction: A perplexing combination of fond recollection and bitter contempt.

"Guy's name was Edwin Jose Escobar, but he preferred being called Eddie." the commander said. "He was eleven at the time, the son of a banker and a city councilwoman so money wasn't a problem, but getting the bastards to acknowledge his existence was. Right off the bat the two of us clicked: I was a natural at outrunning the police and thinking on my feet, while he was a born leader, charismatic as hell, but didn't have a chill bone in his body. Come to think of it, he was a lot like your Ashe. Y'know, minus the butler."

When McCree realized that he'd shared a chuckle with him, he expected his skin to crawl. And yet...

The commander gazed up towards the roof, a distinct happiness influencing his look. "By the time I was nine, him and I were seasoned shoplifters and pickpockets. When I turned twelve, Eddie surprised me with a meeting with the head of the local street gang, a bunch of thugs called _Los Santos_ \- The Saints. Let me tell you," he laughed through a growing smile. "it was one helluva birthday present. Over the next six years him and I climbed the ranks. Shoplifting turned into armed robbery, armed robbery into carrying out hits, and carrying out hits into low-level enforcing and dealing cocaine and heroin. It was us against the world, and we made a great team and an even better family. No one gave a damn about us, so we gave a damn about each other, no matter what." He turned to regard McCree, again wanting to see how he reacted. To his satisfaction, the cowboy seemed almost sympathetic. At the very least, he hadn't tried to shoot him yet.

The commander's head and shoulders hung low, the nostalgia fading away as he resumed his story. "But of course, it didn't last. Two days before my eighteenth birthday, Eddie was at a crack house loading up on product to sell when he got caught in a police raid. There was enough evidence there to put him away for good, but since he was only one guy, the district attorney made him a deal. In exchange for a reduced sentence and community service, Eddie pinched on every person he knew in the gang." His voice deepened to a raspy snarl and his face scrunched in anger. "Every. Single. Fucking. One. You'll never guess who was at the top of the list."

McCree pushed his hat back: The gears in his head were turning, though not because of the rhetorical question or over whether or not what he heard was a lie. The answers to both of those were obvious.

The commander's tone went somber and whisper-quiet, almost fragile-sounding. "The night I spent in the station's cell block was the most scared I've ever been in my life. I had no chance of defending myself; Whatever they charged me with I was going to be found guilty of. I was tired, terrified, and I didn't know what was going to happen next. I wanted to take the same way out that my Mom did all those years ago, but before I could do anything I was dragged out of my cell to the courtroom."

A smirk suddenly grew on him and his normal speaking tone returned. "And here's where things get really interesting. Remember how I said I was two days away from turning eighteen when they got me? Well, when I entered the courtroom I was legally still a minor for the next twenty-four hours, so the judge gave me a choice. I could either wait out another night and be tried the next day as a legal adult, or..." He slowed down his speech as so to place emphasis. "I could join the military and get a second chance at life. It was the only way I was getting out of prison alive."

McCree leaned back in his bunk, assuming the story was done, feeling as though he'd been flattened by a truck. "So that's what this is all about, huh?" he asked. "You wanna give me that same second chance you got?"

As the commander pushed himself off the railing and crouched at the foot of the door, the glint in his eyes was clear to see. "A gun's only as good as the man who's holding it," he said. "but a man's only as good as his ability to learn from his mistakes. You're damn smart, McCree. One of the smartest people I've ever known, but the reason why you got caught was because all those brains and skill are never going to amount you to anything as long as you're a bandit, and frankly the thought of everything you've got going to waste sickens me."

A distinct ambition marked his tone as he stood up again. "Maybe I'm not quite so right: Maybe even though you haven't shot me yet, there's still some depth to you that I'll never understand. If that's the case, then at least let me show you what I mean. You join up with me, and after today I personally guarantee you'll never see the inside of a prison cell again. Everything you need to make the most of your potential, you'll have: A family, a purpose, every single trick in the goddamn book and then some'll all be yours. The next time you meet Ashe, her cronies, or anyone else who decides they'd like a piece of you, they won't stand a chance. If I've got that right, and you're willing to admit I've got it right, then we've got a deal. Or," he added, shrugging. "if we don't, you can always stay here in this cozy eight-by-eight hole in the wall and let your so-called 'family' ride off into the sunset as you twist in the wind." Just in front of the bars, he offered out his hand. "Opportunity's knocking, kid. It's your choice whether you answer."

McCree, still pushed against the bunk, mouthed out ' _I don't believe it_ ' as he scratched the back of his head. What option he was going to choose wasn't even close, especially considering how much the commander appeared to be laying himself out for the young outlaw. It seemed almost too good to be true, even.

But experience had taught him there was only one way to find out.

"'Round my neck a' the woods, deals get settled with a handshake," he said as he picked up his hat and put it back on. "That ain't exactly gonna work so long as I'm in here. You got a key so we can settle this proper?"

The commander reached into another pocket and produced a card that he swiped along the cell door's lock, opening it with a loud clang. When the handshake sealed the deal, him and McCree were standing no more than a foot apart, face to face with nothing to keep one away from the other.

The first thing McCree did after they each let go was land a left hook directly on the jaw.

The commander wasn't so much staggered as he was shocked, and though he regained his bearings swiftly, by the time he'd wiped his attacker's blood off his face the gunslinger's weapon was pointed right between his eyes at point blank range.

The tables had turned, though not for long.

In an instant, the commander retaliated with a swift kick to the shins, throwing his attacker off balance. With well-trained speed he tackled the outlaw and pinned him against the bars of the cell, wrenching the weapon out of his hand as he twisted one arm behind his opponent's back and pushing one of his own shotguns against the gunslinger's neck.

In that moment, McCree's last doubts were put to rest.

"Guess you were right," he croaked. "You really aren't like most men."

The most deafening silence of all followed what had been a split second of calamity, the air tense with deadly anticipation as both men waited for the other's next move before finally ending when the commander caught on at last and relinquished his hold.

"That took some nerve, kid," he acknowledged as he put away his weapon. "I have half a mind to lock you back up in that cell."

"That's why we shook hands _before_ I punched you," McCree answered as he picked up his own firearm and dusted himself off. "Ya can't go back on a deal after you shook on it."

The commander chuckled. "You're shrewd, kid. We can build on that."

He then reached into another pocket and took out something before hiding it in his curled fist. McCree looked at him inquisitively until he revealed what he had: A patch just like the one the commander wore on his shoulders and a bandage for his knuckles.

The cowboy picked them both up and once he'd wrapped his hand, he looked the badge over carefully. It wasn't quite as flashy as the old Deadlock one, but it looked like something he could definitely learn to appreciate. "Y'know, I didn't get your name earlier," he said.

"Gabriel Reyes, but you'll call me 'commander' or 'sir'. Now, whaddaya say? You think you're up to the challenge?"

McCree looked over the patch again, then up to Reyes, then back at the spot on his jacket before sticking it on, right over where the Deadlock insignia had been. To his satisfaction, it fit perfectly. "You got it, 'sir'."

Reyes offered another handshake, which McCree this time obliged without sucker-punching him.

"In that case," Reyes said invitingly. "welcome to Blackwatch."

* * *

_**THE END** _

**Author's Note:**

> So that was Second Chance, my take on McCree's origin story as given by the game itself. As before, if you enjoyed this story, feel free to let me know via comments and kudos. Next week I'll start posting one of my current WiPs, another longfic called Altered Reality.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> GeneralSherman.


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